


He sings a love song....

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, M/M, Winter Wonderland, holiday prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick destiel bunker fic, written to a holiday prompt: He sings a love song as we go along...</p>
            </blockquote>





	He sings a love song....

“Did you have a chance? To talk with him?”

Castiel heard his own voice, how thin and hollow it sounded in the cold air a few hundred yards outside the bunker door. He stomped his feet and jammed his hands deep in his pockets. It was so cold, it was an effort to keep his fingers from stiffening even with heavy gloves on.

There weren’t many other sounds to hear at all - only a light breeze pushing snow off the tree branches, and the crunch of Dean’s boots in the snow as Dean crouched to re-tie a loose shoelace.

“Nope,” Dean put his own gloves back on, lace fastened. “Started to go there while we were cleaning up after dinner but … we got sidetracked.”

Cas nodded. He’d caught a sentence or three of their conversation he was wandering the kitchen, searching up his warmer boots and heavier coat for this walk; a few dozen precious minutes alone with Dean in peace, nothing chasing them.

“It’s all right,” he gave Dean a shrug to show he meant it. “He’ll know eventually. There’s no reason to hurry.”

“Sure, there is.”

Dean was standing again, nodding, a shoulder bumping Castiel’s to urge him deeper into the open field ahead of them.

Yes, there was good reason to tell Sam about them sooner than later – namely, how they’d barely survived at all this year: Cas falling, half human, almost drained of everything that made him Castiel. Dean a demon, saved from both that misery and the Mark by the determination of those who loved him. 

Sam himself wasn’t long healed from his own brush with death and what Gadreel had put him through - good intentions or not.

“Do you think he’ll be able to accept….”

“Of course he will. You know he doesn’t give a crap about… this kind of stuff. About who loves who.”

“Oh, yes. I do know that. That’s… not what I meant.”

Castiel remembered the feeling of carrying Sam from hell, lighter for lack of a soul. He’d suspected he’d pay more than once for that mistake. Maybe he’d pay again now?

“Are you kidding?” Dean seemed to read him – another sign of how much closer they’d become. “You’ve gotta know that’s water under a bridge way back a bunch of exits. Right?”

“Right,” Castiel tried to sound more sure than he felt. “Of course.”

“Hey, stop…pull up a sec….”

He barely heard the words before Dean’s hand was folding around his wrist, Dean pulling him close and…lips. Cold mouth, warm tongue. Dean drawing him tight to him and then…birdsong. Ten o’clock on a February night, and a bluebird was singing long and bright over their heads, as clear as if it were a spring morning.

Birdsong, Castiel thought as they kept kissing, is never a bad sign. Ever.

“Hey!” A voice far away, from the general direction of home. “It’s ten below out, guys.”

“Be right in, Sammy….” 

Dean barely pulled away to yell it back toward the door, but even the brief break left them both sniffling, faces tightening from the bitter cold and the shock of going from lip lock to lack of and back again.

“You can make out in your room,” Sam’s voice sounded funny in the near silence- younger than his years. Cas felt Dean’s mouth curve into a smile against his cheek. “Hell, you can screw on the couch for all I care. Beats the doctor bills if you catch pneumonia.”

Castiel was still self-conscious about his laugh – he hadn’t had many reasons to use it since his plunge into human emotion and it sounded more like a bark then a laugh, but… it made Dean grin.

“Point taken,” Dean shouted in his best drill-sergeant tone and then his voice went soft, conspiratorial. “See? He’s fine.”

“Yes,” Castiel was the one to grab a wrist this time, to tug Dean back across the field. “I’m glad. I’m very glad.”

The kitchen felt like a sauna after their walk. Dean’s bed, with Dean curled against him, felt like a gift from on high. Their bunker felt like home.


End file.
